Pity the Child
by Tom O'Bedlam
Summary: A look into the not quite sane mind of Bellatrix Lestrange.


_**(A/N)** I have no idea why I decided to write this; I don't even like Bellatrix. Here it is, though, and I'd love to know what you thought. Actually, this is me begging you to review. Groveling on my knees, even. The characters belong to Rowlings (who's surprised) and the lyrics are from _Pity the Child_ from the musical _Chess_, and also unfortunately not mine._

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_When I was nine I learned survival_

_Taught myself not to care_

I was nine when I first noticed it. I suppose that seems awfully old; Cissa certainly knew by the time she was six. But I was the oldest, and they hadn't always been that way. I remember, when I was very very young, Mummy and Papa laughing over me and telling me what a pretty pretty little girl I was. And I remember watching Mummy get ready for a party, and Papa laughing and kissing her. Cissa had nothing like that, so she didn't mind. But I was oldest; they didn't mind a girl then, boys would follow.

Not that they paid me much attention; children should be seen and not heard, of course. But had always seemed to like me, if rather distantly. Then I heard one of their fights. I hadn't known about the fights, before. Mother was too well bred to raise her voice, and Papa shouted so much we all ignored it.

I was going to their room. I don't remember why anymore, but I remember the hallway. Since it was in the family wing, Mummy had decorated it her favorite and my favorite maroon. The dark hardwood floors were covered with thick, silent red carpets, dusky gold and black with shadows and sunlight and motes of dust. The walls, like all the walls in our house, were hung with portraits, mostly of ancestors, sometimes of others. Most of those in this hallway were absent or asleep in the late afternoon sun.

I was just about to knock on their door when I heard them. Papa was shouting, and Mummy was hissing back. It was about someone, a nonsense name then, that I can't remember. And then I heard it. A hard dull sound, like when you strike two wooden doll's heads together. I heard someone scream, and threw the door open without knocking. Papa stood over Mummy, still shouting. Mummy lay on the floor with her dress all disordered, and her hair a mess, and a cut on her head seeping blood into the blood-red carpet.

"Bellatrix!" Papa was shouting again. "What are you doing here? Get out!"

I left then, of course, but I couldn't help but remember Mummy's face and how I heard her, as I left, apologizing to Papa.

_I was my single good companion_

_Taking my comfort there._

_Up in my room I planned my conquests_

_On my own, never asked for a helping hand._

_No one would understand._

"Bella, I don't see what your problem is." I remember Andra, believe it or not. She was stupid, but she loved me, in that starved way of hers because she had no one else to love. Cissa never loved me. I don't think she knew how. Shows what it'll do to you, growing up like that. "Why can't you play Quidditch with me now?"

"Because it's not proper! At school they never let girls try out for the teams." I didn't want to talk to her. I wanted to be allowed to run upstairs to my room, my own room, where I knew every inch of everything and I could throw people out, and plan how I was going to convince Aurelius Kissinger to take me to the Yule Ball this year. Not that I liked the prat, but he was the easiest to convince of things.

"They do so! There are two girls on the Ravenclaw team and five on Gryffindor."

I slapped her then, and she finally went away. Not that I wanted to hurt her, but she was becoming too dramatic, too attached to things. If you wanted to be the one on top, the one who hit, you couldn't care. If you cared too much, you were always the one who got hit. That was what Cissa always knew, why she never cared.

I cared, but only for the right things. Because if you have the power and keep the power, then you're even safer than if you don't care. But no one there understood any of that. Andra cared, and Cissa didn't, and Mummy cared more all the time, and Papa wouldn't look at me because I was a girl.

_Pity the child who has ambition_

_Knows what she wants to do_

_Knows that she'll never fit the system_

_Others expect her to._

"I want to fight for Him! I can; I'm as good as you or better!"

"No you can't. You're a girl, and you can't fight. Behave right and he might let you do research, but I doubt you're quite good enough."

"I'm smarter than you, dammit!" I lost my temper then. He wasn't my idiot little sister, who I could slap. Even as I hexed him into next Wednesday, I knew I'd lost my chance, the chance I'd wanted since I first heard of the Dark Lord. Ladies didn't hex gentlemen, didn't shout in public, didn't swear, and He was trying to keep to old order, where the rules were followed. He'd never take me now.

And I wanted to fight for him, because that was best. I had my feminine power over all of them, even of the icy Lucius Malfoy, but it wasn't enough. I had to have the masculine power, too, the power of pain. I was good at that. Regulus always cringed when he saw me, now. But I didn't have a chance to do much more than frighten my wimpy cousin. I needed more.

"Bellatrix. A warrior. Will you serve me?"

I'd never heard Him come up but I didn't care. I knelt before Him and swore that I would serve Him. As I looked up into His eyes, I knew he would let me fight. He would give me the power I craved.

_Pity the child, but not forever_

_Not if she stays that way_

_She could get all she ever wanted_

_If she's prepared to pay._

He didn't trust me, not until the very end. I loved Him, served Him, gave Him everything I was, but He didn't trust me. He didn't trust anyone. Then He gave me a task. I loved His tasks. People were so much more satisfactory than frogs and the occasional house-elf. He called me before, and I knew from His posture, from the way He studied my face that this was it. This was the task with which I could prove my loyalty to him, that he'd trust me forever and ever.

"Bellatrix, my warrior. I want you to kill a man."

"Yes, Master. Who?"

"Regulus Black."

I was shocked. And I almost let myself waver. But sense won over weak caring. It was right that this was how it played out. Regulus must have betrayed His trust, and for that my cousin must die.

"May I leave at once, Master?"


End file.
